It is the season for love and murder in the court of Ravaeryn.
After a chance encounter one winter night, Lady Catarina de Fontaine had fallen hopelessly in love with Julian, the Crown Prince. However, upon discovering his untruthfulness, she immedi...
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1708, Avionne
JULIAN was never very fond of studying philosophy or rhetoric, and he found arithmancy to be a massively sleep- inducing subject.
Needless to say, he was undoubtedly eager to finally leave Breckenridge Academy, where he had spent the previous seven years of his life in, learning about politics and trade, as well as strategies of war and battle.
Breckenridge Academy was an excellent, prestigious institute that only the wealthiest of the wealthy could enter, and the tutors there were hand-selected from the very best.
It was not their fault, it is just that Julian was not very keen on studying.
If he were just another nobleman's son who could live idly without causing trouble to anyone else, perhaps it would not be such a large headache.
However, Julian was the Crown Prince of Ravaeryn, the great King Guillaume's eldest son, and his education was national business. Of course, no one would want a clown to sit on the throne.
All his life, he had been surrounded and suffocated by throes of tutors and teachers, all trying to shove their textbooks and essays down his throat and fill his ears with lectures, to the point where he grew to resent learning altogether.
That night was the final night that he would spend at the academy. After seven years, Julian was finally free to do as he pleased, although his father would likely not allow that. But at the very least, he was not required to submit eight rolls of essays, each two feet long, by the end of every week.
Dressed in nothing but a thin white shirt and trousers, Julian ventured into the empty hallway.
A heavy thunderstorm was brewing outside, and he felt chilled to the bone. Perhaps he should have been more tactful in selecting clothing. However, Julian was already halfway down the staircase, and he might as well go on.
The grand dining hall of Breckenridge Academy's main building was not as half as opulent as the halls in Aethiel Palace, where Julian grew up in, but he found the intricate Renaissance era paintings on the hall's dome interesting and eye-catching.
While Julian was not keen on numbers and words, he greatly appreciated art, and the paintings in the halls were a feast for the eyes.
He was admiring the painting of the legendary siege of Fallerie City, which occurred roughly four hundred years ago in the neighbouring kingdom of Phoenicia, when he heard the sound of rustling fabric, followed by loud, rapid footsteps descending down the stairs.
"Miss," a voice cried, breathing heavily. "I don't understand why we can't wait in the room until tomorrow morning. It is freezing cold out here."
"You're feeling cold, Rosie ? Wait, I'll give you my scarf. It is not that I didn't want to stay there, but I don't want to see that Marguerite le Prince's face. Seeing her face would ruin my holidays !" a soft yet arrogant voice answered, disdain and displeasure lacing her words.
